A Bit Ridiculous
by Shikaku Zetsumei
Summary: No one seems to take anything seriously anymore. What's a poor hero to do? Chapter 3 Up.
1. Characters

Here's a Character List of People who've appeared in the story by chronological order. It'll update with the story.

**Vernon Dursley** – Our story's Hero. Not really, but can we give him a hand for putting up with all this nonsense? I mean, all he wants is his normal boring life back. You'd think that wouldn't be too much to ask. You'd be wrong. He doesn't have a special ability because normal people don't have special abilities. How rude of you to assume otherwise.

**Petunia Dursley** – Surprisingly, she is quite happy she never got dragged into all this magic nonsense. She knows exactly what it does to people and she's perfectly happy the way she is, thank you very much. Her special ability is Denial.

**Dudley Dursley** – The only son of the Dursleys, this tragic young man goes through life knowing the horrors of his eating disorder. But being unable to control the impulses from his brain he is forced to watch helplessly as his body consumes more than twice his weight on a daily basis. Magical therapy could easily fix it, but wizards are jerks. His special ability is Shortness of Breath.

**Albus Dumbledore** – The Headmaster of Hogwarts and, as many will tell you, the only person Lord Voldemort feared. In his greatness, however, he often finds himself wondering just where he is and who stole his horse. His special ability is something you'll learn when you are older and ready.

**Minerva McGonagall** – Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. And with someone like Albus as the Headmaster, she basically keeps the place from becoming bankrupt. Having long since lost her admiration for Albus and enthusiasm for working with him, it's all she can do to keep herself from just running away. Her special ability is to sleep for twenty hours straight, wake for four hours, and do it again. (Weekends only, of course.)

**Rubeus Hagrid** – A lovable, walking, security leak, Hagrid couldn't keep a secret to save his life, which actually happened once. His first name sounds yummy. His special ability is Baking.

**Harry Potter** – Our story's unwilling Hero. (No really, he is, even if he is several characters down this list.) And as every Hero, he must embark on a journey full of people wanting him to do things they can't be arsed to do themselves. Like saving the world. Is it any wonder he would like nothing more than to just run away and live somewhere else? His special ability is to Win when confronted with the Enemy.

**Arabella Figg** – . . . Who were we talking about again?


	2. Doomed from the Start

**A Bit Ridiculous**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It all belongs to the Dark Lord Rowling.

"Blah" – Speech

'Blah' – Thoughts

_Blah_ – Memory

"_Blah"_ – Parseltongue

Year 1 – Chapter 1

Doomed from the Start

Vernon Dursley prided himself for being normal. It allowed him to have a perfectly happy lifestyle and, honestly, what else could a man ask for? He put in a minimal amount of effort for a decent paycheck and a nice house to live in. Sure it would have been nice to live in Chelsea or Kensington or thereabouts, but who wanted to deal with those city-goers anyway? In his mind, there was nothing better than the quiet suburbs of Surrey.

'Yup. Just a normal day,' Vernon thought to himself. 'Nothing going on today, just an average looking day.'

In all honesty, it was a pretty dismal Tuesday what with the low hanging clouds and generally oppressive weather, but people are quite good at deluding themselves to believe anything.

'I sure am glad nothing abnormal will happen today.' Vernon hummed happily as he turned another page of the morning paper

He watched as his lovely wife Petunia attempted to feed their son Dudley.

'Just a normal baby boy. Nothing strange about that,' he mused as he ate his breakfast.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his desire for normalcy screamed out that a forty pound one year old was hardly normal. This screaming sounded vaguely like "Diabetes! DIABETES! DIABEEETES!" This portion of his mind wrestled with the part that said there could be nothing wrong with his precious baby boy.

The fatherly portion was winning.

Just then, his eyes caught movement from the window. He turned to see a brown owl flutter past.

"Petunia did you see that?"

His thin, blonde-haired wife looked at him straight in the eyes.

"I didn't see anything."

Vernon paused for a moment.

"But you were looking . . ."

"I didn't see _anything_!" Petunia said, this time more forcibly.

If Vernon had learned anything from his four years of marriage with Petunia, it was that she was always right. No ifs, ands, or buts.

"Okay . . . well I'm off to work then."

With a kiss for his wife and his baby whale/child, Vernon left Number Four, Privet Drive.

As he drove to work, he passed a cat that seemed to be staring at a scrap of paper on the ground. He ignored it and, whistling a jaunty tune, continued on. Sure, there were weirdoes running around in dresses, but Vernon simply assumed it was some strange, unnatural rally that he neither knew of, nor cared about.

No sir-ee. He wasn't going to let some random freak occurrence disrupt his normal life.

'Drills, drills, I love drills. Sell some drills to pay the bills,' Vernon hummed in his head all the way until lunch.

He stepped outside the building to get a bite to eat.

"Ah, a normal life is a good life." Vernon proclaimed happily as he began to walk towards his favorite bakery.

If only there wasn't crazies everywhere today.

"HE'S DEAD! HE'S FINALLY DEAD! AHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"

A clearly mentally disturbed man ran past Vernon, bright yellow dress fluttering in the wind like fields of wheat on a warm summer day.

'So they're rallying for a new mental institute. Figures.' Vernon continued on down the street. 'I hope my normal wife cooks a normal meal for dinner tonight. I do enjoy that good British cooking.'

But unfortunately the invalid wasn't letting up.

"TAKE THAT YOU DARK WANKER! THAT'S THE POWER OF MAGIC!"

He gestured crazily into the air. Several people glanced briefly at the man making a spectacle of himself before dismissing him.

Vernon continued minding his own business.

'With the way things are going, I'll be able to get the manager's position when he retires in a couple years!'

But now the strange man was dancing around, arms flailing wildly as he sang.

"DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD! Oh wait . . . "

Vernon swung a meaty fist at the man, which impacted with a wet crunch. The insane man fell back onto the ground, unconscious. People on the street frowned slightly as they suddenly had to take an extra step to avoid the fallen man.

Others simply stepped on the man, causing him to groan in pain.

Vernon let out a happy sigh.

'Yup. Just a normal day at work.'

Vernon went about his normal day and was soon driving up Privet Drive towards his home.

And there was the cat.

Sitting there on the garden wall with its eyes closed. Something told him it was the same one he passed by earlier in the day. As he watched, it raised a lazy eyebrow as it stared at him. Then both eyes blinked, though remained half closed and clearly uninterested.

It was really kind of creepy for a cat to do that.

"Shoo!"

Vernon gestured, trying to scare the cat off.

It yawned and continued to stare.

"Get out of here!"

He swung his bag at the cat.

It didn't look impressed.

"Graaawr!"

He raised his arms, trying to be as imposing as possible and advanced on the cat.

It simply stared back at him with half-lidded eyes. Then it decided to take a nap.

"Bloody cat . . . "

Defeated, Vernon went back inside.

Dinner was a simple affair, he ate as Petunia gossiped. Dudley screamed and whined as Petunia tried to give him vegetables, his face an interesting shade of red. All the while a little voice in the back of Vernon's head whispered "Diabeeetes . . . "

Ignoring that voice, Vernon finished the rest of his dinner and flopped down in front of the television set in the living room. Following his normal routine, he watched some news and soon trudged off to bed.

**-ABR-**

Close to midnight, a peculiar old man suddenly appeared on Privet Drive. He wasn't a pedophile looking for kids to watch as they slept. No, this strange old man with the crazy dress and long white beard was Albus Dumbledore.

As if sensing something, the cat that was still dozing on the garden wall of Number Four cracked one eyelid open. It watched as Albus rummaged around in his dress and brought out a small silver lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it.

A small flame appeared.

"Whooosh . . . " Albus muttered, waving the small lighter around.

As the cat watched, the man raised a strange stick with his other hand and gave it a small wave, all the while swinging the lighter around. The lights of a nearby house went dark. This was coupled with an anguished scream.

"My work! I didn't save yet! God damn you npower, GOD DAMN YOOOOUUUUU!"

Startled, Albus quickly put away the lighter and, with a sweep of his stick, all the rest of the lights on the street went out. Fortunately, there was no other interruption save the faint sobbing of one resident.

Shaking its head slightly, the cat turned into a stern-looking woman. Her dress actually looked good on her, giving her the air of an aristocratic scholar.

"Minerva . . . " Albus said sheepishly.

Minerva McGonagall shook her head.

"I can't believe you still have that thing."

Albus looked rather put out.

"But it's so cool! And shiny!"

Minerva rolled her eyes. Unperturbed, Albus continued.

"What have you been doing all day? People are celebrating you know?"

"I've been sleeping." Minerva responded calmly. "That's how I celebrate."

Albus frowned. Distracted again, he rummaged around in his dress pocket and pulled out a couple candies.

"Lemon drop?"

Minerva looked sourly at the old man who was blissfully unaware of her ire.

"I can't stand sour things. Being an animagus does that to you." She responded icily.

Somehow, she got the feeling that he knew and like messing around with her for his own twisted amusement. Albus popped one of the candies into his mouth and shuddered as the sourness hit his tongue. Minerva cleared her throat loudly.

"So You-Know-Who is gone?" Minerva asked tentatively.

"Minerva . . . " Albus chided gently. "I would hope you'd have the sense to call him by his real name . . . Tom Riddle. Or Tommy if you prefer. He did love that name."

Minerva frowned, looking rather embarrassed.

"Yes, well . . . it's just . . . we always think of . . . well . . . Voldemort."

Albus let out a loud 'pfft' as he chuckled. Minerva looked a bit disturbed by his carefree manner.

"Have you heard of a sillier name? I mean come on. You don't have to make up words to be scary."

Minerva looked rather confused for a moment.

"I believe it has French roots . . . "

Albus waved a hand.

"Sure it does."

"Is it true, then . . . ?" She asked tentatively, pushing the argument over Tommy's pseudonym out of the way. "The Potters . . . Are they . . . ?"

Albus bowed his head.

"Yes . . . they have gone onto the next great adventure."

Minerva made a face.

"Wha . . . "

To refer to the unprecedented deaths of two bright young individuals seemed extremely offensive. She thought about this for a bit.

"Albus . . . did you take your medication today?"

Albus looked over at the stern witch.

"Hmm?"

"Your medication." Minerva repeated.

Albus looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he brightened.

"I'm taking it right now!"

Minerva stared for a moment.

"That's a lemon drop."

Albus nodded sagely.

"Indeed it is. Minerva, sometimes I worry about you. The mind can be a terrible thing to lose you know?"

Minerva closed her eyes and counted to ten, which was more a quick 'onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten' than anything.

"I don't want to hear that from you," she bit out.

She composed herself before continuing.

"So why are we here then?" She asked.

"I'm dropping young Harry off here."

Minerva made a face.

"But . . . but you can't! They're BORING!" Minerva cried out. "Gods above, Albus, if you leave Harry here, he'll turn out just like them!"

Albus chuckled.

"Now, now. I'm sure it can't be that bad."

"I FELL ASLEEP WATCHING THEM!"

"You fall asleep all the time. Perhaps you're getting old?"

Minerva squeezed her eyes shut, praying for patience. Finally, she regained enough control to ask the next obvious question.

"Doesn't he have someone to take care of him?"

"Nope."

Minerva stared hard at the old man.

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

Her inner senses screamed that the senile old man was making stuff up again, but couldn't decide what to do.

"So where is he then?"

"Who?"

Some days, Minerva wanted to scream.

"Harry Potter," she said slowly, as if she were talking to a two year old.

"Oh! Hagrid's bringing him."

"Hagrid."

"Yup."

"The same Hagrid who keeps dangerous animals because he thinks they're cute. The same Hagrid who broke my door because he doesn't know his own strength."

Albus beamed.

"What an accurate description!"

"I swear, Albus, if that kid has a broken arm by the time he shows up . . . "

But her threat remained unfinished as a low rumble filled the air. The noise grew increasingly louder, reaching a roar as a massive motorcycle complete with sidecar landed on the street with a tremendous 'WHUMPH!'

Down the street, a window slammed open.

"HEY! SHADDUP YA HOODLUM!"

The window slammed shut, leaving only the sound of the idling engine. A mammoth of a man got off the bike and stepped forward. Minerva walked up to Rubeus Hagrid who, for some reason, very much preferred to be called by his last name. Minerva agreed that his first name almost sounded like a sandwich and, indeed, made the cat inside rather hungry when thinking about it.

"And where on earth did you get that?" she asked testily.

"Borrowed it from young Sirius Black, I did."

Minerva closed her eyes again. Idiots. She was surrounded by idiots.

"The same Sirius Black who terrorized Hogwarts for seven whole years."

Hagrid looked confused. Minerva gave up.

"Dammit, at least tell me Harry's safe."

Hagrid smiled.

"Yup, got 'im right 'ere!"

He reached into a pocket and produced a bundle of linens. Minerva made a face.

"Hagrid, these are your old socks."

Hagrid looked down at the bundle in his hands.

"Oh . . . er . . . hang on. I've got 'im around 'ere somewhere . . . "

He rummaged around again and produced another bundle. This time it contained a small, black-haired baby with a angry red scar on his forehead. Minerva ran a basic first aid spell to make sure the baby was still healthy.

"At least he's still alive," Minerva growled at the cowering Hagrid.

Albus smiled.

"Well I'm glad that's all settled."

He took the sleeping baby from Hagrid and placed him on the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive. He stepped back, staring down at the sleeping child.

"Good luck, Harry."

He began to walk away. Minerva stopped him.

"Wait, you're just leaving him there?" She had an incredulous look on her face.

Once again, Albus nodded sagely.

"Yes, his aunt and uncle will take him into their loving family." He smiled, eyes twinkling brightly even in the darkness of the street.

Minerva stared.

"In the morning." She said flatly.

"Yes, that's the idea." Albus looked mildly confused.

"Seven hours from now." Minerva continued in that same flat tone.

Albus sighed.

"Really, Minerva, I can read a clock. I haven't gone senile yet."

An awkward tension filled the air as Minerva glared at an oblivious Albus. Then Albus smiled, waved his stick again and all the lights in the neighborhood turned back on.

"Welp, I must be going. Those lemon drops aren't going to eat themselves, you know?"

With that he disappeared in a flourish of his dress. Minerva whirled on Hagrid, who was suddenly the target of all her frustration.

"And what do you plan on doing with that?" She asked gesturing at the bike.

Hagrid was nervous again. One nice thing about getting kicked out of school had always been that he didn't have to take any tests or answer any more impromptu questions from the teachers. Sweating bullets, he stammered out an answer.

"Uh . . . give it back to Sirius Black, I guess." He looked rather uncertain of himself.

Minerva gazed coolly upon the massive man.

"Uh huh. And where is he, pray tell? I'd like to have a few words with him myself."

Hagrid back up, away from Minerva's practiced glare. He bumped into the giant motorcycle. An idea formed in his head and he quickly put it to good use.

"Oh, er . . . oh look at the time. I gotta get this back to Sirius."

He hopped back on the motorcycle, gunned the engine, and took off into the night, leaving a rather exasperated Minerva behind to cast the appropriate safety charms on the sleeping baby. It didn't help that the motorcycle was audible until it was only a speck in the distance.

"I'M CALLIN' THE COPS, DAMMIT!"

**-ABR-**

In the morning, Petunia Dursley opened the front door to find baby Harry still snoozing away. She stared for a long while.

Then she closed the door.

Pressing her forehead against the door, she uttered the only thing fitting for this situation.

"Dammit."

**-ABR-**

Elsewhere, in a noisy pub, a rather drunk man by the name of Mundungus Fletcher raised a glass, sloshing liquid all over the place to the disgust of most everyone nearby.

"To 'arry Potta . . . " he slurred before falling face first onto the ground.

A bit of shuffling and kicking by the bar patrons sent the unconscious drunk under the table: out of sight and out of mind.

**-ABR-**

The next day, the headlines screamed out.

**SIRIUS BLACK ARRESTED FOR MURDER**

In a wooden hut at the edge of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hagrid set down the paper. He gazed at the massive motorcycle parted out near the pumpkin patch for the longest time.

Finally, in a confused voice,

"What am I gonna do with this bike?"

. . .

**A/N: Thanks for reading.**

A/N 2: Yes, this will follow cannon chapter by chapter, just with a few . . . deviations.

A/N 3: Gigi D. G. is an amazing webcomic artist. Her brand of humor is the driving force behind this fic.

A/N 4: npower is supposedly a pretty crappy provider, just look at their reviews.

A/N 5: Let's just pretend the cover is a representation of how Minerva feels on a daily basis.

A/N 6: Yes, the publish date is intentional.

Chapter Citation (yes, I think I'll eventually need this): Rowling, J. K. (1997). _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_. (1st ed., pp. 1-17). New York: Scholastic Press.

. . .

Omake:

The boy cooed lightly as he turned in his sleep. There was a rustling in the bushes nearby and a hairry snout poked out of the bushes.

A stray dog sniffed lightly at the bundle on the steps of Number Four Privet Drive.

Whining slightly, the dog picked up the boy and trotted off into the night.

Harry Potter would be found years later in the care of a Animal Shelter employee.

.

.

.

Cue liberal use of random animals Harry ends up adopting.


	3. Bacon Day

Disclaimer: I've yet to get paid for writing. All hail the Dark Lord Rowling.

"Blah" – Speech

'Blah' – Thoughts

_Blah_ – Memory

"_Blah"_ – Parseltongue

Year 1 – Chapter 2

Bacon Day

For as long as Harry James Potter could remember, he was always getting into trouble. And as a consequence, he would usually end up getting beaten like an Asian kid with oppressive parents. Never in the nearly ten years he had been alive could he remember a day where he wasn't smacked around, beaten, starved, or mistreated in some way, shape, or form.

Initially he would get in trouble for things he didn't do . . . usually things that his whale of a cousin were responsible for.

"It's what you deserve," they would tell him. "It's what you get for being adopted. You should be grateful we don't do worse."

For some reason, the Dursleys seemed to try to make beatings, or lack thereof, out to be some kind of reward.

"WAKE UP, FREAK!"

He jolted awake to Petunia's screeching voice and her banging on the door to the small cupboard beneath the stairs of Number Four Privet Drive.

"Get up! Make breakfast and maybe we won't beat you as much today!"

Unsurprisingly, Harry wasn't buying it. Something told him that the typical orphan child wasn't treated like this. Some days he just wanted to bolt out the door and run away.

Too bad he would still be homeless.

"Urrrrgh . . . " he moaned, trying to shake off the stiffness in his body.

He sat there trying to remember the dream he was having. Something about a motorcycle and the smell of dirty laundry.

"Wake up you useless lump! I don't feel like cooking, so you do it, and do it well or we'll double your beatings!"

Harry rubbed his face. Somewhere in the years, he had gotten mostly used to the standard beatings and they no longer fazed him as much. In the beginning, he had thought that if he kept his head down enough, he could live a fairly okay existence. It would build character.

That or he just had an extreme tolerance to abuse and would one day snap and run through Privet Drive with a sawed off shotgun.

Oh well.

But as the years of unfair treatment went on, he gradually became inured and gave up trying to be a good little boy. After all, why bother when your caretakers so obviously hate you?

Now he usually did whatever he felt like doing since the beatings would come regardless of his actions.

It made life more fun at the very least.

Though the possibility that he would just snap and go on a rampage never really faded.

"You up yet?" Petunia pounded on the door again. "It's Duddy's birthday and I won't have you screwing it up! Don't you dare burn the bacon or we'll triple your beatings!"

Harry froze.

It was Dudley's birthday.

He hardly cared for that bucket of lard, but he was glad the greaseball was born for one reason only: his birthday.

It was Bacon Day.

The one day in the entire year where the family would make so much bacon that Harry would be able to surreptitiously eat his fill without getting beaten for it.

Harry practically flew out of his 'room' and quickly went through his morning routine. In the kitchen, his orb of a cousin was sitting there counting presents and munching on buttered toast. If the crusts and wrappers were anything to go by, the kid had already consumed half a loaf and a whole stick of butter. Harry swore his cousin would die of a heart attack at age thirty if he kept up this kind of lifestyle.

And then he smelled it.

Bacon.

Pushing thoughts of his cousin's health out of his mind, he began cooking, all the while staring at the bacon.

The bacon that he was frying.

The bacon that would be fried.

The taste of that crispy goodness when it hit his tongue.

"Boy, stop drooling! That's two more beatings today!" Vernon yelled from his place at the table.

Harry idly wiped his mouth, but paid his uncle no heed. He began frying eggs as well, if only for the fact that bacon tasted that much better when there were eggs as well. Meanwhile, his beach ball cousin had finished counting.

"Thirty-six. I've only got thirty-six presents? That's two less than last year."

Barely glancing over, Harry responded casually.

"Really? I counted thirty-nine. Why don't you give that another go?"

Dudley shot Harry a rather confused look and started counting again. Harry continued loading a serving plate up with perfectly cooked bacon.

It took Dudley a good three minutes to finish counting. He got a bit stuck at the 'teens.

"Well I counted thirty-six! Why do I only have thirty-six!" Dudley whined.

Rolling his eyes, Harry placed the mountain of bacon and eggs onto the kitchen table and sat down.

"Look, you're missing these hidden by the large box."

Harry did a quick count, randomly gesturing at presents until he hit thirty-nine.

"See? Thirty-nine presents."

"Oh." Dudley said, looking blankly at the boxes before him.

Vernon glared. There would be beatings in Harry's future. But, as he learned over the years, some things were worth the beatings, and making his cousin question his own sanity was one of them.

Appeasing Dudley had taken too much time. There was bacon to be consumed. He waited until both his uncle and blood-related bowling ball to take their hearty shares of bacon and eggs before serving himself. That way, they would be too occupied to complain about how much Harry was eating. The-Boy-Who-Lived(-to-Eat-Bacon) began wolfing down his breakfast like there was no tomorrow.

Which, if tomorrow was actually synonymous with a lack of bacon, was actually true.

Petunia came into the kitchen, making a face at the three individuals stuffing their faces.

"Bad news, Vernon. Mrs. Figg broke her leg and can't take him."

Vernon made a face as he looked up from his breakfast.

"Well why not? Can't we just dump him there anyway?" Vernon growled out.

Petunia shook her head.

"She said she was taking an overdose of Vicodin and sleeping the day away. No doubt she already out."

Vernon clicked his tongue in annoyance. Harry, however, felt his heart skip a beat. He frowned, pausing in his campaign of bacon as he wondered what could have him feeling so happy about not going to Mrs. Figg's place.

**-ABR-**

_Run._

_Got to get out of here._

_The young boy's eyes danced as he looked for a way out. Far behind him, he could hear it. Those soft yet predatory footsteps. He could hear Her coming._

_He backed up against the door, inching towards the windows. The smell of cabbage was growing stronger with each passing second. In his terror, Harry pressed himself against the far wall, hoping that She wouldn't notice him._

_A shadow stretched out along the hallway, a misshapen, disfigured thing. It looked humanoid, but there were . . . things . . . coming out of its body and around its legs, waving back and forth like tentacles._

_His eyes darted this way and that, looking for something to fight with._

_She came closer._

_He could hear Her voice now._

"_Heeeeeeey Haaaaaaarrrrrrryyyyyyy. Wanna see my caaaaaaaaats?"_

_There was no way out. No way – _

**-ABR-**

Harry twitched, snapping out of his reverie. He looked down at his plate of bacon. What was he daydreaming about? He thought hard, but nothing came to mind. Now he was double confused at what caused his heart to skip with joy.

'Maybe I should cut down on the bacon . . . ' he mused.

Then the smell of bacon wafted across his face and he dug back into the only meal in the year he ever looked forward to. Vernon and Petunia, on the other hand, were still trying to figure out what to do with their squatter of a nephew.

"We gotta put him SOMEWHERE. Who knows what sort of weirdness he'll pull if someone's not watching him!"

Harry looked up from his breakfast.

"You could just leave me here," he said around a mouthful of greasy goodness.

Petunia sneered at the boy. It made her look all the more like a giraffe.

"And let you blow up the house? You must be out of your mind!"

"I'll only blow it up a little bit . . . " Harry said shrugging.

Petunia glared hard at the boy, trying to determine if he was being serious or just trying to be funny. She gave up and turned back to Vernon.

"I guess we'll just have to take him with us."

At this point, Dudley began having a fit. For a moment, Harry thought the miniature gravitational field was actually having a heart attack. Harry paused in his eating and watched expectantly.

But then the fake tears came and Harry quickly lost interest in the whining.

Eventually, Dudley's toady of a friend showed up. And once again, like every other year, Harry fought back the urge to wave a piece of cheese in front of the rat-like boy.

He was soon thrown unceremoniously into the back seat of the car and they drove off to the zoo. Before they entered the zoo, Vernon dragged Harry off a ways.

"If you pull anything . . . and I mean ANYTHING . . . Boy, you will stay in that cupboard until you forget what the sun looks like."

Harry frowned at this.

"It's bad to stare at the sun, Uncle Vernon. You'll go blind. The teacher said so."

This earned him a smack across the head. Families nearby glanced curiously at this blatant display of child abuse. But, as per usual, no one stopped to say anything about it.

Bloody bystander apathy.

"Come on then," Vernon grumbled.

It was by far the most pain free day Harry had ever had. He even got to eat sweets.

He never got to eat sweets! They were almost as good as bacon!

Harry took every advantage he could get to swindle more sweets out of the Dursleys. Lunch garnered a rather luxurious bounty.

"Dudley, are you sure you should be eating that?"

Dudley looked up from his knickerbocker glory.

"Shut up, freak. It's mine!"

"But the school nurse said you're dangerously overweight. Don't you feel short of breath when you walk? I noticed you were panting a bit while we were walking. Are you feeling okay? You don't look so good. Maybe you should take a breather." Harry turned to Piers, Dudley's rat-faced friend. "Don't you think so Piers? Doesn't he look a bit pale?"

Piers shot Harry a look as if he was something disgusting on his shoe.

"He always looked like that. Leave me alone, freak boy."

Harry turned back to Dudley, a horrified look on his face.

"You mean you're like this ALL THE TIME?! My goodness. Maybe we should get a doctor to look at you. Are you sure you don't want to lay down for a bit?"

Dudley paled, pushing his dessert away, he turned to Petunia.

"Mum . . . I don't feel so good . . . "

Harry silently thanked the documentary that covered how susceptible humans were to suggestions of illness, especially if someone else backed up that claim. He happily dug into the abandoned knickerbocker glory.

After a quick jaunt to the first aid room, Dudley was feeling well enough to continue. The prospect of visiting the reptile house drove all thoughts of illness out of the still morbidly obese boy's mind.

The reptiles, just like almost every other stop they made during the morning, were not very interesting. They slept. A lot.

Vernon tried to get a giant boa constrictor to do something by banging on the window. The hollow thuds echoed in the quite reptile house, causing a nearby personnel to stare at the large man angrily. The other left, feeling bored and rather put out.

"_What a rude man,"_ a voice said.

"_I know,"_ Harry responded idly. _"Sometimes I wonder if we're actually related."_

"_Speaker does not like His family?"_

Harry snorted in derision. It was just then he realized he was actually talking to the snake. Then again, this occurrence ranked rather low on the list of strange things he tended to do, so he merely went on chatting with the snake, happy to have someone who understood his pain.

"_Yeah. Too bad I can't just run away."_ Harry mused.

"_I want to visit Brazil,"_ the snake said wistfully.

Harry looked over at the large reptile.

"_Brazil?"_

"_I dunno. It says that's where others like me are from,"_ the snake gestured at the sign next to his cage.

"_Oh . . . "_ Harry blinked. _"Wait. You can read? And how did you even see that sign."_

The snake tilted its head, feigning ignorance. Harry turned away, muttering something about deliberately ignorant snakes. His thoughts were interrupted as the high-pitched voice of Piers Polkiss echoes off the walls of the reptile house.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME LOOK AT THE SNAKE!"

Harry winced at the pitch, wondering if the boy was just a natural countertenor or secretly a eunuch.

A full on body check sent Harry sprawling to the ground as Dudley waddled in to get a better look at the boa constrictor.

"Lemme see!" The walking cardiovascular miracle shuffled in front of the cage, leaning in close.

With a yelp, his center of gravity shifted and Dudley was sent splashing into the small pond in the snake's room. Dudley screamed like a little girl as the massive, seventy pound boa slithered past.

As Harry watched, he noticed the snake seemed to enjoy terrorizing the bystanders and zoo personnel.

"_Brazil, here I come . . . " the snake hissed happily. "Thanksss, amigo."_

In a moment of quick thinking, Harry stepped in front of the snake, causing it to pause.

"_Isn't Brazil in a completely different continent?" _ Harry was worried the snake would simply just slither off to die somewhere in some city alleyway to be found later by hobos and eaten.

Never mind the fact that the snake seemed to know Spanish or Portuguese or whatever.

The snake looked up at the boy, confusion in his reptilian eyes.

"_What is . . . continent?"_

Harry sighed. Here was proof that charging headfirst seemed to be a popular course of action in everyone and, apparently, everything he met.

"_Look, why don't you just go back into your habitat. Brazil's nice, but you don't know the first thing about living there, much less getting there."_

The snake remained petulant.

"_But Brazil sounds fun . . . "_

Harry groaned inwardly. He tried a different tactic.

"_Look. This place is okay right? They give you nice warm rocks and keep you fed, right?"_

Sullenly, the snake nodded.

"_In Brazil, you'd have to hunt for your food, and even then it's never a guarantee that you'll eat. Plus it rains a lot and warm places are usually full of people."_

The snake lowered its head in a defeated manner.

"_Very well, Speaker, I see your point. Thank you for your wisdom."_

The snake slithered back to its cage, much to the zookeeper's confusion. Harry wasn't sure, but it seemed like the snake had a bit of a vindictive streak. After it reentered its cage, it curled up calmly around Dudley, wrapping himself several times around the boy's generous girth, and promptly fell asleep.

**-ABR-**

'On average, my life still sucks.' Harry decided as he lay in the darkness of the cupboard under the stairs at Number Four Privet Drive.

For some reason, everyone seemed to think he was some kind of deranged, criminally insane freak. Sure, Petunia liked to gossip, but the teachers at his primary school? The random people at the grocery store who watched as Petunia slapped him around?

Several years ago, he started to suspect that everyone around him simply didn't care.

And it wasn't that they were bad people either. Something about his situation was simply so extreme that nobody even dared to begin to approach the problem. He began listing off people that ragged on him or simply made him feel downright miserable.

'Vernon, Petunia, Butter-boy, Butter-boy's gang, Mrs. F – ' his brain hiccupped. 'The school principal, the kids at school . . . even the police were strangely apathetic the few times he'd been found running away from Lard-boy and his gang.'

Harry sighed. 'Yup, life still sucks.'

He turned his mind to happier memories, particularly those from earlier in the day.

The zookeeper and the other workers had spent hours trying to coax the boa constrictor to let go of Blimpy. It wasn't until Blimpy soiled himself in fear that the snake had reluctantly let go in order to wash itself in the pond.

Best Bacon Day ever.

Now if only he could jimmy the lock on the cupboard door.

. . .

**A/N: Thanks for reading.**

A/N 2: I don't care much for bacon. Then again, I'm not Harry.

Chapter Citation: Rowling, J. K. (1997). _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_. (1st ed., pp. 18-30). New York: Scholastic Press.


	4. Razing the Amazon

Disclaimer: The Dark Lord Rowling writes for her own amusement. She doesn't need money and I'm certainly not getting any of it.

"Blah" – Speech

'Blah' – Thoughts

_Blah_ – Memory

"_Blah"_ – Parseltongue

Year 1 – Chapter 3

Razing the Amazon

Harry's punishment for doing nothing wrong lasted for almost a month. His captors decided that he had been punished enough for the time being and let him walk around outside. Just in time too. Harry had been idly contemplating writing all over the inside of his cupboard when Vernon wrenched the cupboard door open and told him to make food. It was probably for the best he was let out, too.

It just wouldn't do to look like a crazy person.

On the downside, he had missed the last month of primary school. Missing school wasn't exactly a rare occurrence, though neither were punishments. The teachers worked out early on to not question his absences. It seemed that Vernon had spoken with the principal and made up some cock and bull story about how Harry, being the terrible delinquent he was, would occasionally decide to skip school. Harry supposed they believed Vernon.

Either that or they simply didn't care, an explanation Harry was now beginning to favor heavily.

How he was even allowed to move onto secondary school, even a public one, was a mystery in of itself.

In fact, the only reason he was even aware that he was going to secondary school was that Petunia had taken Dudley to buy his uniform for that _special_ school of his. And honestly, if Dudley was going onto secondary school, there was really no reason why Harry wouldn't be as well.

Harry could still remember that day.

**-ABR-**

_Alone._

_He was alone again._

_For once in his short, short life, he wished he was with his aunt, uncle, and pet hippopotamus. He simply could not believe they had left him here again._

_Here . . . with Her._

"_Haaaaarryyyy . . . I made some caaake . . . let's eat it together and become frieeeeeendsssss . . . "_

_The abandoned boy sat staring pointedly at a single spot on the wall, trying with all his might to ignore the madwoman hovering around him._

_A meow near his left leg followed by . . . something . . . grazing it made him shudder._

_And She wouldn't let up._

"_Try iiiit . . . it's leafy chocolate cake!"_

_The boy wondered just what in seven hells was leafy chocolate cake . . . but if the smell was anything to go by, there was more than chocolate in the piece of confectionary now being pushed into his cheek. Cabbage was first to come to mind._

'_Bloody crazy . . . ' Harry would readily bet that she had planned all this, just to torment him in her own sick twisted way._

_The piece of cake was still poking him in the face, the smell of cabbage was overwhelming._

'_Cakes aren't supposed to be this . . . this . . . ' his prepubescent mind couldn't come up with an apt description for the horrid morsel being proffered to him._

"_How are things going at home, Haaaaaarrrryyyy?"_

_The boy froze. Why on earth was she asking such a question?_

"_Are they treating you weeeeelllll?"_

_His mind was in a panic. She was trying to get him to say something so that she could take him away from the Dursleys._

_He'd rather DIE!_

_Thinking fast, he tried to change the subject._

"_That looks good. Did you make it yourself?"_

_He reached out, took the slice of cake and bit into it._

_The room spun as the world dissolved into a blur of someone repeating the word 'cake!' and meows of varying pitch._

**-ABR-**

Harry blinked.

Or maybe he couldn't recall that day. Strange how there seemed to just be a gap in his memory.

He shrugged to himself.

Oh well, it's not like it was important anyway.

Besides, Vernon was saying something and it would be beatings if he didn't listen.

"Get the mail, boy."

Shrugging, Harry got up and wandered over to the front door.

There, on top of a stack of bills and other things he didn't care about, was an oddly marked envelope. No return address, it simply stated:

**Mr. H. Potter**

**The Cupboard under the Stairs**

**4 Privet Drive**

**Little Whinging**

**Surrey**

Great. Now he had to deal with stalkers.

Harry often wondered if some deity out there simply hated his guts.

"Hey, Uncle Vernon, there are people watching the house. Better be extra good to me, they could be the cops."

Vernon glared at the kid who carelessly tossed the mail onto the kitchen table, the envelope with contents unknown on top. He stared intently at the brown envelope.

It was really hard to miss Vernon's apprehension: he gulped visibly, causing all of his chins to wobble slightly.

"P . . . Petunia . . . " he croaked weakly.

Petunia glanced at the envelope on the table.

"Yes, it's an envelope," she said blandly.

"But . . . but . . . " Vernon sputtered.

Petunia turned an blank look onto her husband.

"Anything wrong?"

"It . . . it's . . . "

Petunia sighed.

"No one's watching our house. Looks like it was just delivered to the wrong address. Let's just toss this in the fire, shall we?"

Harry watched the exchanged with mild interest. His aunt had always been a strange lady. She clearly knew something about his situation and why strange things happened around him. But her staunch refusal to admit anything was truly something to be admired. So everyone, even Vernon and Tubbo, simply let her be.

Nevertheless, they still moved him up into the spare bedroom upstairs. It was a shame, really, since he was beginning to really enjoy the cozy cupboard.

It was an interesting week as whoever it was continued to send those brown envelopes.

'Hm. Well that puts the police out of the running,' Harry thought to himself as he watched Vernon tear up several envelopes at the same time. 'Maybe it's a really dedicated prankster.'

Whatever the case may be, it was obvious that this person was quite adamant that Harry get this letter. As the week wore on the number of letters the house received every day increased exponentially, to the point that normal mail was beginning to become hard to spot.

Ever the opportunist, Harry had a bit of fun with this.

After all, it wasn't like the letters were important, after all. The sender was clearly in possession of an industrial grade copier and a lot of time on their hands.

Harry picked up one of now roughly thirty or so letters off the floor.

"Oh, look. Another letter for me."

Vernon snatched it up and promptly tore it to pieces with a loud roar. Harry simply picked up yet another letter.

"Hm. Looks like they've got my address right down to the bedroom."

"GRAAAAH!" Tear.

"Oh look another one."

"GAAAAH!" Rip.

"Gosh, there's another. They're quite persistent aren't they?"

"BLAAARGH!" Shred.

As Harry reached into the stack of papers, he withdrew something that caught his eye.

"Hm . . . this – " Harry began before the envelope was snatched out of his hands.

"AAARUGH!"

Vernon's face was an interesting shade of purple as he tore the letter up into miniscule pieces. Confetti floated all around him as he huffed and puffed in exertion. A sheen of sweat adorned his forehead as he stared at Harry with a slightly crazed look, daring him to pick up another envelope.

Harry frowned.

"That was your paycheck. You should be more careful with those."

It was an amazing sight to see Vernon's face obtain a new shade of puce.

"GET IN YOUR CUPBOARD!"

"But I thought I lived in the smallest bedroom. Look, these letters even say so."

"GRAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Harry wisely retreated.

The next few days saw Vernon hammering away, trying to seal the house at every access point. He proudly proclaimed that no more letters would be coming into the house. Petunia merely took it in stride.

"Dear, must you make such a racket? Do we even need these renovations? Our house looks fine as it is."

Harry wondered how long it would take for all of them to die due to lack of fresh air.

"Daaaaaaaad I'm huuuungry . . . " Dudley whined after about five minutes in complete isolation from the outside world.

"No worries, son!" Vernon said cheerfully. "We've got plenty of canned food and cereal."

The massive man waded through the sea of envelopes that had filled the house to about ankle-height and made his way into the kitchen. Harry considered taking a letter to read, but found himself the target of a rather unblinking stare from his aunt, and though better of it.

"Now, let's see what we've got hereAAAAUUUGH!" Vernon's happiness evaporated into sheer terror as a mountain of letters tumbled out of the cabinet from some unknown pocket dimension.

As the letters continued to tumble out – and the sea rose to about mid-calf – it was clear that whoever was sending these letters was nothing short of insane. Even Harry started to wonder if he'd wake one night to find some stranger standing at the foot of his bed holding a rusty saw . . . and a letter of course.

"Ah ha. Ha ha ha. Ah heeheehaahaahaa," Vernon bubbled mirthlessly.

No one spoke as the last vestiges of Vernon's sanity vanished.

"Hey kids! What say we take a trip far faaar away!" Vernon exclaimed suddenly.

Harry began inching away, his Uncle's words seemingly precursors to statements like "Close your eyes and count to ten" or "Let's all drink the Kool-Aid".

"It's about time for a normally relaxing vacation, riiiight?" The man stared feverishly at the two boys.

"Uh . . . " was all Dudley could manage.

"Pack up, boys! We're going on a vacation!" Vernon gestured excitedly.

"Where to . . . ?" Harry asked rather suspiciously.

"We're. Going. On. A. Vacation." Vernon said again, that slightly manic grin never leaving his face.

Harry guessed he probably couldn't make it to the door before his uncle did something drastic. Besides the door was nailed shut anyway. Resignedly, they packed a bit of necessities before leaving. Soon, Vernon's tiny sedan was speeding crazily down neighborhood roads, taking turns at random and even occasionally driving on the wrong side of the open road. Harry watched as Number 4 blurred past for the third time and wondered if he would see his next birthday, which was in only a few short hours.

After ten more minutes of reckless driving this way and that, they finally exited the neighborhood.

"Eeeeeeeheeheeheeheee . . . " Vernon mumbled as he drove around the nearby city several times before heading out into open roads again.

Harry looked concerned and busied himself by watching the blurs of people and cars passing by.

Petunia looked as if this was the most natural thing in the world and busied herself by reading a fashion magazine . . . though she didn't appear to be turning any pages.

Dudley looked hungry and busied himself by gnawing on the seatbelt.

Sometime later they were outside a rickety looking hotel. The travelers were greeted by the receptionist, a kindly looking, elderly lady.

"One room." Vernon mumbled to the receptionist, eyes darting back and forth. "Just for the night."

"Name?" She asked politely.

"Dursley . . . no! Wait! I mean Smith!"

The lady frowned.

"Well Mr. Dursley-Smith . . . you appear to have a room booked. There's a letter for your party as well."

Harry watched as Vernon turned white and his pupils shrank.

"L-letter . . . ?"

"Yes, here you are. You should have told me you had a reservation." She passed him a familiar looking envelope.

It read:

**Mr. H. Potter**

**Railview Hotel Lobby**

**Cokeworth**

**Keep Running Dursley .**

The silence was almost palpable. Harry swallowed nervously and began backing away again. Something was coming, he could feel it. He had to get away before –

"AAAHHHHHHHHHH!" Vernon screamed.

His voice echoed in the tiny lobby, rattling the windows and scaring the receptionist something fierce. He continued screaming as he grabbed Petunia, Dudley, and Harry and bolted for the car. He screamed as he unceremoniously flung the three into the car. He didn't stop screaming even as he started the car and stomped on the gas.

The moment before the car sped up, Harry glanced desperately back at the receptionist. Their eyes met and for a split second they understood each other. Both were terrified of the madman driving the car and neither were able to do anything about it.

"Save me," said Harry's expression.

"Godspeed," said the lady's.

The elderly lady's terrified face vanished as the car sped back out onto the road, Vernon's scream fading into the distance.

**-ABR-**

Minerva stared blankly at Albus.

Albus stared at a spot on the wall just to the right of Minerva.

"Albus," she said tiredly. "Was that really appropriate?"

The senile old man smiled kindly.

"Of course. We've been bothering them for quite a while now, a nice little joke will do wonders for them."

The feline professor could feel a migraine coming.

"There must be a reason the Harry hasn't responded yet," she tried again. "Maybe he's become so boring that the thought of magic is too exciting for him. I warned you about them!""

"Nonsense. He must be so excited that it slipped his mind. A few more reminders will surely be enough." Albus said happily sucking on a lemon drop while rolling a quill across his desk.

"And that last statement?"

"Mr. Dursley's a bit pudgy, don't you think?" The old man said mildly. "He could use some motivation."

"I . . . you . . . buh . . . " Minerva sputtered.

"If that's all, I have some matters to take care of." Albus dismissed.

In a stupor, Minerva trudged out of the Headmaster's office.

Once she left, Albus removed the disillusionment charms off his secret project.

"Soon . . . " he muttered to himself. "Soon it will be complete . . . Moo ha ha haa . . . "

**-ABR-**

It was almost ten o'clock at night when Vernon stopped at a secluded seaside shanty. Stony-faced, he locked the car and left, leaving Harry to his imagination.

'This . . . this is just the place to do murder suicides . . . or just murders. I gotta get out of here.'

Harry frantically tried the door, but then realized that Dudley had ripped out the door handle a while back in some food-induced fury or other. He looked across the backseat at the other door near Dudley's massive bulk. Then he noticed that Dudley was looking progressively hungrier and decided not to risk his limbs in an attempt to leave the car.

Before Harry could consider any other option, Vernon was back and carrying a long wrapped packaged, rather unmistakably a gun of some sort, which sent alarm bells ringing in Harry's mind. It could have simply been a large loaf of French bread, but at this point, Harry's imagination wasn't exactly feeling particularly imaginative or optimistic. Glancing at the rickety shack, he noticed a creepy old guy giving them a toothless smile and waving.

'Oh, God.' Harry fretted. 'He's in on it too! He's probably some crazy psychopath who helps other people get rid of the bodies!'

"We're heeeere! Everyone off the car!" Vernon said rather cheerfully.

'Well, this is it. My short crappy life will soon be over.' Harry mused.

"There's nowhere around here to sleeeeeep. And I'm huuuuungry . . . " Dudley whined.

"So where are we staying then?" Harry asked.

He was immediately swatted across the head.

"No questions!" Vernon barked, before gesturing out into the crashing waves. "Behold!"

Out in the middle of the ocean, there sat a single shack. Most people would question why someone would choose such a location to build a shack, but Harry knew.

It was where they would be killed and thrown into the depths of the ocean.

As they got into a creaky rowboat and began rowing towards their doom, Harry couldn't help but feel like every stroke of the oars was another step towards the executioner's block. Looking over the side, he noted that the waters looked freezing, even if he could somehow swim.

The shack itself was drab and sparse. Strange off-color splotches dotted the walls and floor, either from mildew or blood. The single table looked like something, or someone, had been smashed into it repeatedly. Harry could have sworn he saw burial mounds outside the cracked window, but it was too dark to tell. Uneventfully, after a rather boring and subpar dinner, the Dursleys went to sleep and Dudley cried himself to exhaustion from lack of calorie content.

Harry couldn't sleep.

He remained wide awake and alert, ready to bolt should Vernon decide he was first. His eyes scanned the room methodically, noting the door to the room where Vernon is and all the potential exit routes should the man come charging in, gun drawn. Every creak caused his eyes to flicker in that direction, every movement was cause for alarm. The storm outside made eerie shadows dance along the walls. In his hunger-induced delusions, Harry became all the more paranoid.

Harry giggled slightly, idly noting that he might actually make it to eleven years old before his tiny life was ended.

But, some little part of him wished he could do something more with his life. Maybe something like –

**BOOOM!**

Harry's eyes immediately darted to the door. Someone was outside. Someone was standing outside and wanted in. Someone wanted to come in and was probably holding a large rusty axe to do something not all that pleasant to the residents of this rickety hut.

Doing his damndest to stay alive suddenly became Harry's only priority.

. . .

**A/N: Thanks for reading.**

A/N 2: That is NOT how you check in on the savior of the Wizarding world.

A/N 3: Rule 28 of How to be a Psychotic Murderer: Keep a healthy supply of rusty tools around.

To Guest Reviewer: Aw. Totally was not aiming for that trope. If anything, I was going for Hilariously Abusive Childhood. Thanks for the honest review anyway.

Chapter Citation: Rowling, J. K. (1997). _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_. (1st ed., pp. 31-45). New York: Scholastic Press.

. . .

Omake:

The door creaked open and Harry ran. Swimming skills be damned, he plunged into the icy water and floundered his way to shore, leaving the Dursleys to their fate.

The old man stared, perplexed, as the young boy ran out into the storm and splashed into the sea.

"Wonder where he was off to," he mumbled. "I meant to tell them I'd forgotten to give them access to the underground suites and casinos . . . "


End file.
